“That’s it?” Dalton was surprised, even though he had known this was coming eventually. “What about the rest of my team?”
“They’ve been officially classified as missing in action,” Kirtley said. He turned back to his imagery and his own team.
“They’re not missing,” Dalton argued. “They’re in the other room.”
“Then wake them up,” Kirtley said sharply. “Bring them back, have them walk out here, and you can take them with you.”
“You told me they wouldn’t be abandoned.” Dalton took a step forward, several members of Kirtley’s team getting between them.
“And they won’t,” Kirtley said, “but they also won’t be going home with you, will they? And they have to be classified as something, don’t they? Some sort of explanation given?”
Dalton knew what Kirtley was saying made sense, but he viewed it as the first step to eventually pulling the plug on the bodies in the other room. And once he was gone from Bright Gate, there was nothing he could do about it.
“I have a suggestion,” Dalton said.
“What?” Kirtley’s response was less than enthusiastic.
“Let Jackson, Barnes, and I participate in your test this afternoon. We’ll be part of the opposing force. The big problem my team had on our training exercise at Fort Hood was that we had no one shooting back.” He turned to Dr.
Hammond. “Couldn’t our avatar weapons be set on a low power, enough to indicate a hit but not hurt each other?”
Hammond nodded. “Yes. I’m sure I can get Sybyl to program that.”
“Our opponents won’t be avatars,” Kirtley said. “They’ll be real flesh-and-blood people.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Dalton said. “We sensed a presence when we were at the villa. Besides, we can act like flesh and blood-keep our avatars on the real plane and not use the virtual to do any jumps once we’re at the training site.”
He could tell Kirtley wasn’t thrilled with the idea, so he pushed. “You need all the help you can get. Trust me on that. You don’t want to end up like the other two teams.”
He could see the flicker that passed over Kirtley’s face as the last point hit home. “All right. You go over with us and to the first jump point. Then you’ll go on ahead to be part of the opposing force.”
“Now it’s your time to prove your loyalty to me.” Raisor’s avatar floated an inch off the floor, a disconcerting image when combined with the translucent aspect of his appearance.
“How exactly?” Cesar asked. Valika stood behind him, off his right shoulder, Souris was working, preparing for the next test of Aura, the final one before they were ready to be fully working in combination with the Gagarin.
“Not only will you help me,” Raisor added, “but you’ll also be helping yourself.”
Cesar waited for more explanation.
Raisor had searched through the computer’s files for what he was looking for. Now he used Aura’s capabilities to project an image of the Mount of the Holy Cross in the air between him and Cesar and Valika.
“That’s where Bright Gate is located. Inside that mountain in the middle of Colorado. You’re going to help me get in there, and out with what I need.”
“And how am I going to do that?” Cesar asked.
“You’re going to lend me your associate”-he pointed at Valika-“and her laptop. I transferred more than the eight hundred million you needed. You can spare, say, ten million-a drop in the bucket-to hire the men and equipment we need in the United States to accomplish my task. If you need contacts, I have some that I met while working for the Agency. And they will have my assistance.” He turned to Souris. “You have your original prototype of Aura, don’t you?”
“ Souris!” Cesar snapped, drawing her attention away from the computer screen. “The original Aura prototype-you still have it, correct?”
Souris nodded. “But it is weak. The field is small, less than half a mile.”
Raisor smiled. “That’s all I’ll need in order to be with Valika on the mission.”
“You said this would also be helping me,” Cesar noted.
“The Americans are planning to raid your compound in Colombia where you are keeping their soldiers prisoner.”
“I expected that,” Cesar said.
“Did you expect their Psychic Warriors to be leading the assault?” Raisor asked. “Are you prepared for that?”
Cesar turned to Souris to answer.
“We are, actually,” she said.
Raisor was surprised. “How?”
“Do not concern yourself with that,” Cesar said. “I think you have a good point though. Attacking Bright Gate while the Psychic Warriors are out on the virtual plane is a good idea.” Cesar lifted his right hand to Valika. “Go with him.”
The U.S. aircraft carrier Roosevelt had just traversed the Panama Canal into the Pacific on its way to rejoining the Seventh Fleet after a refit at Norfolk Naval Station. On the massive flight deck dozens of planes were crowded wingtip to wingtip. Among them were two MH-60 Special Operations Blackhawk helicopters. A new Department of Defense policy, designed to be more in line with the threats of terrorism rather than World War III, had designated that a Special Operations task force be on board each fleet carrier. The Spec Ops task force consisted of a Special Forces A-team and a Navy SEAL element, along with Task Force 160 helicopters to transport them.
The order for the raid to help rescue the Special Forces soldiers in Colombia was greeted by the Special Ops men with enthusiasm and professionalism. The original team had come from this ship and they had friends among the missing men.
As the Roosevelt turned its bow to the south, they began making their plans, even though the supporting role they were to play puzzled them. If they were to be second fiddle, who was to do the actual assault?
“Eat it,” Sergeant Lambier told Granger. The wounded man was staring at the tin plate of unrecognizable slop a guard had just shoved in the cell.
“Why?” Granger asked. “So I can puke just before they shoot me?”
“Because we don’t know how long we’re going to be here,” Lambier said.
The other two men made no move to grab their plates either. Lambier picked up his and began shoveling the food into his mouth, swallowing as quickly as he could to avoid tasting it. When he was halfway through, the others began doing the same.
15
Captain Lonsky was actually not overly surprised the Gagarin had been sold. The previous year, Moscow had rented it out to an American movie company making a science fiction film, and before and after that they had done monitoring missions for other countries and corporations when the price was right. Lonsky had been a crew member aboard the ship during the Cold War and remembered how they had always been shadowed by American submarines, planes, and ships doing counterintelligence missions against them. Things were very different now. For all he knew, the Americans were the buyers.
“A message from our new owners,” Zenata said, holding several sheets of paper in her hand.
Captain Lonsky took the message and read through. He turned to the bridge crew and barked out orders. “Shut down the thrusters. Orient dishes horizontal for minimum wind resistance. Our new heading will be three zero zero degrees, at flank speed.”
As the crew did as commanded, he reread the next to last sheet. “Do you think this is serious?”
Zenata shrugged. “Whoever sent this bought the ship, which even Moscow would not sell cheaply. I would assume they are serious about the money. It is probably cheaper than training their own crew.”
Lonsky picked up the mike. He switched the intercom so that he could broadcast to the entire crew. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you are now aware, the ship has been sold to someone, whose name we do not know. However, we have received a communiqué from them with a job offer for each of us to stay on for another month of work, remaining in our assigned jobs on board ship. The terms of the deal are simple. A bonus of one hundred thousand dollars American for each member of the crew for that one month. Paid in cash. If anyone does not want to stay on board, please notify me immediately.” He clicked off the mike and waited. As expected, the message board remained unlit.